


What the Bloody Hell?!?

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: What if Spike got halfway out of Sunnydale and realized that Buffy could be killed by Angelus and the world could end? What if he then turned right back around to go help her? Set in Becoming, Part 2.Dedication: Written especially for OffYourBird! Thank you so much for all your help with Finding the Way Home! You don’t know how much I appreciate you and your efforts! (Hope your request is met well enough!)Special thanks to Sunalso for the quick and extremely helpful beta job! :D You and OffYourBird are such constructive betas!Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all.





	What the Bloody Hell?!?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OffYourBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/gifts).



Spike slammed the DeSoto’s brakes halfway out of Sunnydale – the town that very nearly destroyed him and probably destroyed his relationship with his dark beauty.

 

“Bloody hell! He’s gonna kill her.” Spike gritted his teeth and hit his palm on the steering wheel so hard that Drusilla moaned and shifted next to him. “Bloody fucking hell,” he growled much more quietly.

 

The tires screeched as he spun the wheel one-handed and haphazardly roared back the way he’d come. Fear gripped his heart. If Angelus killed the Slayer, Spike would be in a world of trouble. The whole bloody point of helping her was to have her stop Acathla, and if she killed Angelus in the process, so be it. Stupid, bloody, infernal Slayer! Couldn’t she do anything according to his plans?

 

He sighed. She hadn’t cooperated in any way, shape or form since he’d arrived in Sunnydale. Why should she start now?

 

Stupid bint was so enthralled by Angel that she couldn’t even slay properly anymore. It was amazing that she hadn’t already been killed. Again. She was too emotional for her own good. What kind of Slayer got attached to people? Her Watcher ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for his lack of guidance.

 

Spike’s foot mashed the gas pedal to the floor, and the DeSoto’s engine roared in protest before settling nicely into the new speed. At least, his car was working properly.

 

Spike swerved around a pokey car and clenched his fist to stop himself from honking and waking Dru.

 

Finally reaching the mansion’s gate, he raced up the driveway and angled the car into the shadows. Yanking on the parking brake and abandoning the keys in the ignition and Dru in the front seat, he thrust his door open and raced toward the place he’d left the Slayer and his grandsire.

 

Spike felt the magic in the air before he even reached the courtyard, and his stomach dropped. It was the end of the world as he and everyone on the planet knew it. God damn it! He shouldn’t have left her!

 

Spike skidded to a halt in the doorway just in time to see the giant portal to hell yawning wide. He barely heard Buffy tell Angelus to close his eyes, and for some reason, the vampire obeyed. Without any sort of audible warning, the Slayer drew back her sword and ran it through Spike’s grandsire.

 

As the portal shrank in on itself and closed, taking Angelus with it, Buffy stared for a long moment at the now inert statue of Acathla. Then, Buffy’s shoulders slumped, and she began to cry. As she collapsed to the ground, her legs bent haphazardly and her arms around her ribcage, something shifted inside of him.

 

Spike knew this kind of pain, knew the pain of love lost, and this stayed his hand and softened the edges of his anger. Damn it, he couldn’t stand seeing a lady in pain, even if she was one of the banes of his existence.

 

He took a cautious step toward the Slayer and then a few more. He could tell that she knew he was there by the way she shifted a little, but she didn’t tell him to go away, didn’t tell him to piss off. So, he squatted next to her, his leather coat bunching on the ground, and he tentatively stroked her back.

 

At his touch, her sorrow began wracking her whole body, as if contact with someone else gave her permission to have her emotions, to experience her grief and pain. Without thinking, he sloughed off his jacket and pushed it aside. Then, he slid onto the ground with her and pulled her onto his lap. As he rocked her back and forth, she clung to him, pressing her face into his shoulder. Her whole body was warm from the fight, and her tears were hot on his skin through the cotton of his shirt. The scent of her sweat was heady. His body responded without his permission, and he discovered, to his surprise, that he wanted her. He also knew that he wouldn’t act on it. She was too young despite what she’d been through, and he was not, and never had been, about breaking young girls. 

 

Before Spike could wrap his mind around that little revelation, Buffy shifted back from him, her thin but strong arms propping her upper body away from him. He resisted the urge to draw her close again.

 

“You all right, love?” He kept his voice low and soft, lightly running his fingertips over her shoulder blade.

 

She made a face at him. “What do you think?”

 

Spike was pleased to hear the bit of spunk in her tone. “I imagine that sending your lover to hell wasn’t on your any of your top ten lists.”

 

Tears filled her eyes, and as they spilled over her dirt-stained cheeks, he drew her close again. She willingly allowed the touch, even knowing it was him, but this time, he merely swayed back and forth with her. She buried her face against his chest, and unlike before, her tears were more quickly resolved.

 

“Okay. Now, tell me why the second water works?” Spike felt like he was coaxing out a very wary cat, a cat that could stake him in the heart if he made the wrong move, so he kept his voice gentle and calm as one should in such circumstances.

 

She shook her head. Spike didn’t respond but took a risk and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Still no staking. This was a good sign. Instead, she merely hiccupped.

 

After several seconds, she took a deep breath. “A-angel. . . he got his soul back right as the gateway to hell opened, and I. . . I had to. . .”

 

She began crying again as the truth dawned on Spike. His response was swift and firm. “You did the right thing. Closing the portal. It was the only way to do it.”

 

Spike found he couldn’t say more; he knew better. After all, he’d been dealing with emotional breakdowns in his women – well, woman – for a very long time now. There was a fine line to walk, and he was an expert. Plus, for some reason, that stubborn compassion for the Slayer was still hanging around in his heart.

 

After several minutes, Buffy remained in his arms, and Spike wasn’t quite sure what to do or what to say. How could he tell her sayonara. . . that he had to get the hell out of dodge? That he had to leave with his dark beauty before she woke up and tore him a new one? If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to move.

 

Buffy sniffed and wiped her face with her fingertips. “You watch David Letterman?”

 

Spike chuckled. “Of course I do, pet. He’s bloody brilliant.”

 

“Wait. You have a TV?”

 

“Don’t sound so surprised. Steal cable from the neighbors and everything.” He didn’t really, but she didn’t need to know that.

 

She emitted a small laugh. “Sounds about right.”

 

“What’d you expect?” Her laughter was a nice contrast to what he usually experienced from her. In his presence, the Slayer was usually annoyed, irritated, stressed, or brassed off. . . or all of the above. Huh. Who knew she actually had a sense of humor?

 

She shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know what vampires do in their spare time. Angel. . . he usually read old books or. . .”

 

“Skulked in the shadows like a big ponce?” Spike tilted his head, a smirk on his lips.

 

This time Buffy’s laughter was stronger and lasted a bit longer. It was the mirth of someone who was emotionally exhausted.

 

“What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

 

“He did that, mostly in the beginning. And some after he lost his soul.”

 

“Yeah. And he’s always been. . .” Spike hesitated. Did he want to tell the Slayer how Angelus treated him? About how his grandsire always played with Dru to mess with him?

 

Buffy was studying him, searching his eyes, and he found he couldn’t meet her gaze. She raised her arm, and Spike waited for the blow. Instead, he felt her hand on his cheek.

 

“He hurt you, too.” She didn’t sound shocked.

 

Spike flinched before he could stop himself. The wounds were many, the scars were deep, and she was poking around. . . no, she was inadvertently stomping on all of them.

 

“So that’s why you helped me.” She turned in his lap to more directly face him. “It wasn’t to save the world. It was to get even and to take back your crazy vampire girlfriend.”

 

Spike felt his temper flare. “No! I prefer the world the way it is.”

 

Buffy stared at him and her next words told him that she saw beyond his defenses. “Oh. He really hurt you.”

 

Spike felt his own tears threaten to rise, and he closed his eyes to her. What the hell?! What was she doing to him? He hadn’t cried in years. . . maybe decades.

 

Without warning, her arms went around his chest, and she hugged him close. He tried to remain stiff, but it didn’t last long before he relaxed into her embrace. God, how long had it been since someone hugged him with genuine affection and without expectation?

 

There was the echo of a small footfall behind them.

 

Spike and Buffy sprang to their feet at once. Like guilty teenagers, they turned to face an extremely pissed off, disheveled Drusilla. Her fists were balled up, and she huffed and stomped her foot. Then, without saying a word, she stormed away, a blur of darkness.

 

Not quite understanding why, Spike remained rooted to the spot, staring after the woman he’d loved for over a century. Something had irrevocably changed in the moment Dru had caught them, and he didn’t run after her the way he always had before.

 

Within seconds, the DeSoto’s gears shrieked as Drusilla drove away. Balls. She’d wreck the car for sure.

 

Spike took a step forward but then glanced at Buffy.

 

“Go! Go after her! Now’s your chance. I promised I wouldn’t stake you or Dru if you helped, and you did. So go!” Buffy’s voice was genuine but resigned. Her green eyes looked beyond weary.

 

He could rush her and break her neck, bagging his third Slayer, but he didn’t want to. . . not at all. Instead, he said, “Do you want me to go?” Spike winced inside at his query, but somehow managed to keep his tone neutral. What was he thinking? Now who was the crazy one?

 

“What? No. Yes.” The Slayer’s arms flew up in her indecision. “I don’t know.” Spike had clearly flustered her.

 

Spike shifted back to flippancy, his safe space. “Can’t make up your mind, eh, Slayer?”

 

She punched him in the arm but not very hard. “I can.” She considered him again as if she was searching for something. “Stay.” Her invitation was unequivocal.

 

It took everything in Spike not to let his mouth hang open like an idiot. “All right.”

 

“You can stay here in Sunnydale.” She raised a finger, her jaw set. “But no killing of innocent people.”

 

“How am I supposed to eat?” Didn’t she remember the part of his speech when he talked about Happy Meals on legs? He’d meant it.

 

Buffy crossed her arms but didn’t seem upset. “Help me out, and I’ll feed you.”

 

“Oh really.” Spike let innuendo creep into his voice. Even if he didn’t act on it, he couldn’t help himself.

 

She rolled her eyes. “No, gutter brain. I mean – I’ll get you blood.”

 

“Well, I’m not a pet either. . . some lap dog you can haul out on a leash whenever you want to.”

 

“You are so far from a lapdog, and I can’t imagine you on a leash.”

 

Spike wasn’t sure he could let that one go, but he decided to leave it for now and address a different issue. “If I stay, won’t your little pals and your Watcher want you to stake me?”

 

“Help me out. Earn their trust.” She sounded firm.

 

“I won’t be Angel 2.0.”

 

This earned him another eye roll. “You definitely aren’t.”

 

Spike grinned. The Slayer was making progress; no tears this time. Well, for now anyway. Grief was a funny thing. Came and went in the beginning, and she was probably in some sort of shock.

 

“So, do we have a deal?” Buffy was expedient when she was negotiating. He’d have to remember that.

 

“Yeah. You got yourself a deal.” And she damned well better know that he kept his promises. “What’re you going to do now?”

 

“I’m going to head home. Sleep. Then, I’m going to face my mom and answer her million questions about being a Slayer and how I can’t just stop being a Slayer. Come with?”

 

“Sun, pet.” Spike bent to scoop up his duster.

 

“Oh yeah.” She started heading toward the exit and then turned back to face him, continuing to walk backward. “Come over later?”

 

Why the hell not? He had nothing better to do. “All right.” He nodded at her.

 

Buffy returned his nod, giving him a small smile, and then turned back toward the door. When she reached her destination, she pivoted. “Spike?”

 

“Yeah, pet?”

 

She smiled, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

Then, she was gone. Unmoved, Spike listened to her footfalls until they faded completely away. Then, a mix of emotions washed over him from anger to confusion to hurt to annoyance. . . and another feeling entirely that he never expected to associate with the Slayer. . . the bloody infernal Slayer who always foiled all his plans and completely mucked up his life.

 

Why hadn’t he told her not to take what he’d just done for granted? Why hadn’t he reminded her that he would get her in the end so she’d better watch herself?

 

What the bloody hell had just happened?!?

 

The end.

 

5-22-17


End file.
